


Patience is a Virtue

by sirenheadsupremacy



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Impersonation, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Touching, Pining, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenheadsupremacy/pseuds/sirenheadsupremacy
Summary: Tim wants answers.He's determined to get them, by any means necessary.
Relationships: Brian Thomas | Hoody/Timothy "Tim" Wright | Masky, Brian/Timothy "Tim" W.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Patience is a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [humanitiesfall](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=humanitiesfall).



> decided to write this on a whim when one night i thought to myself, "hey, what if tim decides to seek out totheark himself and thinks hes being slick by slapping on his mask to get some intel on the guy??" but in reality his disguise sucks and the plan backfires completely :)) 
> 
> p.s. ryo, consider this a christmas gift since i cant be there in person to give u anything, so this was written specially for you! hope u enjoy this as much as you enjoy your christmas ♡

Tim was used to waiting. He always has been, whether it be waiting to clock out at his dead-end job, waiting for his next cigarette, waiting when traffic got bad, waiting for the disturbance of noises and intrusive thoughts to quiet in his smoke muddled head, waiting for his heart to settle in his chest after an especially bad panic attack, seizure, nightmare-- the list goes on. He sits there, stuck in the loop of his own mind no matter where he was. Sometimes he didn't even _know_ where he was. Recollection of memories was another thing he waited on, but nothing ever came. No answers. Nothing for him to go off of besides dirt-covered tapes tucked away in the most desolate of places Tim would rather not venture into. But did he have a choice? Not really. He had no choice, like how he had no choice _but_ to wait when the situation gave him little to no options to work with. 

Even growing up, patience was something that was instilled in him at a young age, where he was sat on the hospital bed staring at the dismal walls of the dark room the nurses had tucked him away in after giving him his medication, waiting on the day his mother would return to take him back home. She never did. Tim never complained. Like how he didn't complain when Brian didn't answer his twelve missed calls in a row and had not once gotten back to him ever since this shit with Jay started. 

Tim was content with that. 

But then he wasn't. 

* * *

"I just don't think it's a good idea," Jay said, weary while he rustled with the plastic bag of junk food he picked up from the gas station. Fruit snacks, soda, chips. Nothing very nutritional, but enough to hold the two over for the night. Not like they had enough money to visit a five star restaurant in their area anyways. 

Tim watched Jay from where he was sat at the edge of the hotel bed, noticing the visible tension in the other's shoulders when he had his back to him. Like he didn't want to acknowledge Tim or so much as the idea he had proposed to him. Tim understood. He knew the risks and the amount of shit it could land him in, and he'd be lucky if he got out alive. It was _far_ from a good idea. The logic was right there, painted in bold letters in front of his face, but part of Tim just didn't care. Why should he, when _logic's_ gotten them nowhere?

"Yeah, well, I didn't think it was a good idea for you to _release_ my medical files to the public either, but what do I know?" Tim shrugs, his tone taking on something between sarcasm and mild irritation, one that let Jay know exactly how he felt. From a single glance, Tim swore he saw Jay wince. There was a beat of silence between them, and Jay opened his mouth to say something else, but Tim cut him off short. 

"Listen, I know you're sorry. But it's not going to change anything. Not when it's pretty much well in the past already and we have other things to worry about." Tim sighs, sitting back in bed, leaning back far enough for the pillows to cushion him. His head hurt.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Jay questioned from where he was stood by the desk, now with his camera in his hands, viewing the footage he'd taken that day. Tim cocks his head at him. How nice of Jay, to want to make it up to Tim. He thinks for a moment.

"I mean, you can start by passing me my cigarettes. _And_ not treating me like some kid." 

Jay actually snorts at that. "Yeah, no. I knew you were gonna say that. Try these instead." 

Tim's head perks then, eyes narrowed, ready to give Jay some sort of backtalk until he's promptly left fumbling with a pill bottle that was chucked in his direction. Thankfully, Tim's spared the struggle of bending down to snatch up said bottle from the grimy carpets and leave his head spinning more when he secures his hold around the tiny bottle of aspirin. Oh, so _that's_ the rattling he heard in the bag when Jay came back to the hotel room.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." 

Tim purses his lips and decides not to complain. Despite how he was itching for a smoke, it could wait. Like most of the things in his life. Jay gives him a water bottle and Tim accepts it, downing a couple of the tablets and letting the water soothe his raw throat. He didn't know how dehydrated he was until now. 

More silence. Jay's the first to break it, and this time, Tim doesn't stop him. 

"How are you even going to do this? How do you know you're going to... be _in control_ the whole time? What if something happens?" Jay was worried now. Tim could tell, with how his voice wavered and his hold on the camera tightened. 

Tim's answer was blunt. Honest. "I don't know." 

An exasperated sigh could be heard from Jay. 

"Right. You don't know, I don't know, and I sure as hell don't know how any of this is going to help our case." 

"I mean, it's worth a _shot,_ isn't it? Not like we have anything else going on for us right now. All we do is sit around and... wait, for that _thing_ to get the jump on us when we least expect it. I need to do _something._ "

Tim was used to waiting, to the point where he was sick of it. Just as Jay was sick of arguing with Tim. 

"Fine." Jay finally concedes, setting his camera down on the dusty surface of the flimsy desk to instead pick up the chest-mounted camera Tim's been forced to wear ever since they started working together. He shuffles over to the bed with it, holding it out to him. Before Tim could take it, Jay pulls his arm back, just out of reach. Tim makes a face, but Jay's already talking over him. "If I let you go and do, whatever it is you do," Jay continues, making a series of small, vague gestures in the air with his free hand. "You have to come back. I'd like to not have any blood on my hands, you know?" 

Finally, Tim doesn't have to strain his arm for the device when Jay lowers the gopro into his palm, and Tim takes it with ease. He nods. "I know. You don't have to worry about me." 

No matter how much he reassures Jay, he knows it will never be enough to overcome their shared paranoia. He tries, though. 

* * *

In truth, Tim had no idea what the fuck he was doing. Despite that, he tried to keep a level head and feel his way through the darkness, both literally and figuratively. It wasn't exactly _easy_ to see which direction you were going in the pitch black of the night when you were scouting through banal shrubbery and trees that seemed to stretch for miles, searching for answers that likely weren't going to come. The mask over his face didn't help either. 

Jay suggested bringing a flashlight with him, but Tim refused the offer. Said something along the lines of it 'tainting' the so-called _convincing_ act he'd be trying to put on for this hooded stranger. Whatever that meant. Tim definitely regretted it now. All he had lighting his path was the stark moonlight above, coming in dim, scattered beams through the trees' branches, shining where leaves crunched beneath his feet. Tim figured, since it was nigh impossible to escape the constant surveillance of their hooded terrorizer, he'd isolate himself in hopes of bringing he attention to himself. He knew it was a stupid idea, but then again, it wasn't like there was an exact protocol to follow for this kind of thing. He had to try _something_ to feel somewhat productive. _Yes_ , that's what it was. Doing something. Not sitting around and staying productive. 

Tim didn't want to acknowledge the desperation that was nagging at the back of his mind. 

He'd taken his car out to the highway and dropped by a random path out by the woods, not really having a clear destination as to _where_ he was going exactly. It was blind searching, he knew that, but still. It was like some invisible force had _compelled_ the weight in his foot to ease down on the breaks when he came across the path. Like he was supposed to be here. He doesn't know what it is, but he follows his gut feeling regardless, as if the moment he slipped on that mask he'd been possessed by it. 

In the midst of shaking off a dead branch he got his pant leg caught on, Tim glances down for a split second, only to look up again and find that he wasn't in the same place as he was before. No, the path was gone, and the trees had thinned out, revealing a treeline that casts out to a field resembling a... park. Tim squints through the eyeholes of his mask and does a double-take. 

Rosswood. 

Tim stumbles back, landing on dirt and grass in his jolt of panic. He can hear his own unsteady breathing, heightened by the mask over his face. He looks over his shoulder, to find that the path he came from was gone. Scrambling to his feet, he takes in his surroundings again, making sure he wasn't dreaming. He even grabs at his own wrist and digs his nails in for good measure. The pain was as real as the thrumming of his heart in his chest. 

He was miles away from where he and Jay's hotel was, considering how far they've travelled since, abandoning town in hopes of getting away from whatever hell had taken place in these woods the last time Alex was here. 

Tim's hands fumble at his own jacket, his shirt, to feel the camera mounted on his chest and find that it was still, in fact, recording. Well, at least _that_ was something that was enough to convince Jay that he wasn't going crazy. Not yet, anyways.

Tim pauses. _Jay._ He had to call him. He searches through his pockets for his phone, almost frantically so. He had to let him know exactly what had just happened so he knows where he is, that he's not completely unhinged, that the one person anchoring him in reality was-- 

There. 

Tim suddenly finds himself seizing up when his eyes catch sight of the familiar figure standing off in the distance, still, like a statue in the night. The parking lot, just on the edge of the park was where the figure remained, idle and menacing beneath the crude light the streetlamp offered in the dismal dusk that was Rosswood. 

Tim holds his breath. Despite being far off in the distance, sheltered by trees in the dark, he knew he'd been spotted. His legs felt like they were knee-deep in wet cement, now dried and refusing to let him move an inch. Tim was stuck.

Yet, invisible eyes bored into him, almost as if they were expecting him to do something. Make the first move.

That was Tim's entire purpose of coming here, wasn't it? 

Taking a breath, finally, does Tim decide to move.

Tim doesn't know how to describe it, other than the walk of shame down to the gallows. At least that's what the trek there _felt_ like. He might as well have been walking to his deathbed, the hooded figure resembling a grim reaper more than anything the closer he got. 

Ten meters away now, and Tim doesn't say a word. He wants to. He wants to rip the other's mask off and beat down on him and scream _why, why, why_ but he knows he can't. Luckily, fear is what overruled his frustration and kept him in check before he did anything reckless. Tim doesn't know what he was dealing with, and would rather not provoke them since he was already playing with fire as it is. 

When Tim reached the edge of the dim light that shone on the pavement, it was the figure's turn to move. Tim stopped dead in his tracks when he was approached, not even daring to breathe when the hooded man surveyed Tim up and down, almost expectantly. Did he notice something was off? When Tim thinks about it, it wouldn't be a crazy idea. Nor would him blacking out right now be less than viable.

Impersonating an unstable, reckless version of yourself wasn't exactly easy. But Tim was half-certain he had already crossed that line when he first thought this was a good idea. 

Then he felt a hand over his chest, touching at the worn cotton of his shirt. Tim definitely wasn't breathing now. 

As fear stricken as Tim was, he can't help but find the touch to be painfully familiar. Gloved fingers ghost over the fabric, leaving Tim momentarily breathless where he stood. It was almost comical, how out of all things, he got a _sliver_ of comfort from the hand that had been keeping him on edge this entire time. Keeping him up at night, fearing the next time he would wake up weeks later on the cold ground of an area he didn't recognize. Just proves how unstable and tired Tim really is.

Tim's looking down now, watching as the fingers suddenly secure themselves over the gopro strapped to his chest. 

_Shit._

On instinct, Tim's hand flies up, but stops mid-way when he's given a look of warning. Jesus, even through the _mask_ Tim can sense the hardened look he's being given behind it. He doesn't say anything though. Just... lets it happen. 

Waiting, like he always does. 

The silence is suffocating. 

Even more suffocating were the hands that were on him now, so casual in the way they were easing his jacket off like they'd done it about a dozen times before. He doesn't know how to feel about it. He knows he should be terrified, fending him off, running for the fucking hills as he's stripped down to nothing but a shell of vulnerability, but the intrusive thoughts returned, and they ruled over his sense of rationality before anything else did. 

He wouldn't admit it, but the hands were warm. 

The feeling of familiarity was hard to deny. They remind him of Brian, when he'd squeeze his shoulder when they passed by one another or when he'd clap a hand on his back, even sliding it up just enough to stroke the rough digit of his thumb briefly over the nape of Tim's neck. 

Tim missed that, so much so that he didn't put up a fight when his hooded stalker slipped his jacket off him and crept around Tim until he was behind him, hearing a distinct _click_ that let Tim know he had just undone the buckle of the straps holding the camera in place. 

The footage was crucial for their investigation, Tim knew this. It was practically a memory bank for Tim when his own head refused to work with him, a sense of stability in the mess he got himself into. It was important, yet Tim found that he could care less when the straps fell away from his body, and the camera was now in the hooded man's possession. 

Tim was helpless. He knew this too. 

Another click. The camera was off. Everything that happened now would be lost to the messy blur that was Tim's mind, with no footage to back up the memories. 

Surprisingly enough, the hooded figure doesn't kick the device to the curb or make away with it by disappearing within the blink of an eye. Instead, it's being pressed into Tim's palm, indicating for him to _keep it._ He holds it and doesn't let go, even cocking his head at the other like he was awaiting further instruction. 

Tim hates how casual their interaction was. How natural it felt, like it was just another day riding in the car with Jay, mindlessly searching for leads they didn't have. Most of all, he hates how compliant he is when his jacket's given back to him, and how easily he puts it back on without question. 

The figure brushes past him, towards the trees. Tim knows this is an indication for him to _follow,_ and he didn't have to be told twice when he turns on his heel and lets himself be led down to God knows where. 

Maybe he'll find answers now. Maybe he'll just get more questions. Either way, Tim was tired of fighting. Tired of running, his motivation fleeting by the second. If he disappeared into the woods with this figure and never resurfaced again, then so be it. 

Keeping his promise to Jay was harder than he thought. 

* * *

More walking. 

Tim can hear every crunch and snap of twigs under their footsteps the further they ventured into the forest, far enough that the treeline Tim first emerged from was long gone when Tim glanced over his shoulder to check. Not that he could see much anyways. 

Finally, they come to a stop. If it wasn't quiet before, it was dead silent now. The paranoia came creeping back, and Tim half-wondered if he should be bracing himself now for a gun to the head or bolting in the other direction in a feeble attempt to dodge the bullets. But nothing came. 

Then Tim saw it, a flicker of light. Small sparks, then a full flame that was visible within the fingers of the hooded figure in front of him. He was holding a lighter. 

Tim's brindle eyes follow the flame as it moves forward, to illuminate the tree in front of them. Tim doesn't understand, but he doesn't need to. Not when the hooded man had knelt down, the miniscule flame revealing a shovel propped up against the tree. The gloved hand pats the dirt ground, brushing leaves and grass away from the spot. Brushing his palm off on his thigh, as if to rid himself of the dirt accumulated on the gloves in that split second. Then he's looking back up at Tim, the stretched frown of his mask appearing as if it were being stretched further with each flicker of the flame the longer that Tim stalled.

He wanted his assistance. 

_Didn't want to get his hands dirty,_ he figured. That's what Tim was for. 

So, pocketing the camera and its straps in his bulky jacket, Tim wastes no time in picking up the shovel and getting to work. Digging up a hole where the hooded man had touched. He almost felt like he was digging his own grave. 

A hand touches his shoulder, the same one that had been handling him earlier. Tim comes to a halt automatically. _Deep enough,_ Tim could almost hear him say. Yet he remains silent. The flame had died, and once again, it was dark.

He's being tugged, and Tim knows he wants him to get down. So he does. He shifts to where he was sat comfortably on his knees, the other doing the same. Obscured eyes meet obscured eyes. Watching each other. Observing one another, even in the pitch black of the night.

Again, he's being touched. But this time, the gloved fingers were poking into Tim's pocket, fingering at the gopro inside. He coaxes it out of his jacket, along with the straps, and again, into Tim's hands. Tim clutches the device, not knowing what to do with it until he feels gloved hands around his wrists, pulling, far enough for Tim to feel his hands hovering above the emptiness of the hole he had dug up not even a minute ago. 

He wanted him to let go of the camera. Bury it for good. 

Tim hesitates. 

But the hooded man is insistent. 

He keeps pushing and pushing, but Tim finds himself attached to the camera. Like it was the last thing keeping him sane. 

Earlier on, he was ready to give it up. Why not now? _Why_ was he still clinging to something he knew wasn't worth clinging to in the first place? 

It was the same with Brian. He knew he was far gone, but Tim remained stuck on him anyways. Hoping to come across him one day in the countless hotels he and Jay hopped from. 

He wanted to stay in denial. Didn't want to acknowledge the hands that were on him now, the firmness of them as they caught Tim's bicep and massaged the tense muscles in the exact same way that Brian would when Tim got back from a stressful day at work and insisted and insisted _hey, man, let's catch a movie, let's hang out._

_I know you're tired. Just let it all go._

It was hard, saying no. It was especially hard, when keeping upright became difficult the more the hooded person leaned on him, close enough to perch his chin on his shoulder, using his weight to overcome Tim's resistance. 

Pushing, pushing. Pushing him until Tim fell over, like he was nothing but frail. He sure felt like it, when he was forced to topple over on his side, forced to lay down on his back and peer up at his assailant. Except it wasn't painful. Tim wished it was. 

He feels like being beaten into the ground would feel better than the slow hands that were drifting over his body now. He hates how warm they were. How they made him ache, convincing in ways they shouldn't be. He's still clutching the camera, and he tries to get up, only to be pushed right back down. 

It's the hand over his throat that makes his breath stutter, causing him to seize up entirely. At some point, the hooded figure had clambered his way on top of Tim, securing his spot and refusing to move until Tim said _yes._

Tim didn't have to guess to know that he was using his body against him. Using _Brian_ against him. Tim hated it. It stung, knowing Brian wouldn't touch him this way. Wouldn't bother to get this close, not in a million years because _they were just friends, they didn't see each other like that, they were like brothers, they-_

Tim's heart skips a beat when he feels breathing in his neck. Muffled by fabric, but clear, distinct breathing. For a moment, his hold on the camera loosens. 

There was that warmth again, warmth that was just _so_ familiar that Tim was left trembling. The hooded man was hunched over Tim, his face in Tim's neck, breathing in the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and oak. His hands didn't relent, touching Tim all over, running over his chest, his shoulders, his neck. 

And fuck, was he touch-starved. 

Tim just about broke when he heard the rustling of fabric being rolled up, and felt stubble and soft lips in the crook of his neck in the next moment. 

"Stop," he finally utters, barely above a whisper, almost a croak behind the mask. But Tim makes no effort to push him off. It was like he was as heavy as the guilt that was weighing down on him, ashamed of how nice the feeling of lips— _Brian's lips—_ felt on his skin. He doesn't stop. Doesn't heed Tim's words in the slightest.

 _They were just friends,_ Tim reminds himself, as gloved hands came up to lift Tim's mask above his nose. 

_They didn't see each other like that,_ he scolds himself internally, when he feels teeth graze along his jaw. 

_They were like brothers,_ Tim acknowledges, but apparently not enough, when he finds himself melting into the heat of his mouth when he feels lips over his own. 

It was so hard to say no. 

He kisses back maybe too eagerly, drops the camera a little too quick, clutches at the other man's hood maybe _too_ tightly. Tim knows he won't find security like this outside of the woods for a long time. Tim knows Brian would never look at him the same, if he were to ever come back, to ever recall the sequence of events that occurred that night. But he highly doubts it. He doubts even _he_ would remember this when he wakes up alone again, scrambling to find his bearings, to pinpoint his exact location and struggle to fill in the gaps in his head where memories should have been.

Tim ignores the warning signs, the buzzing in his head, the dull nausea settling in his stomach when he turns his head a little too much to the left in an attempt to chase after the other's lips when he pulls back a little too far. He knows there are eyes on them, that danger was amongst the trees, disturbing their temporary truce, but he didn't care. 

Tim manages a hoarse _why_ between the meshing of their lips, desperate to get it out before his mouth is overtaken again and he's silenced, before he forgets. 

He can breathe again, but only for a split second when his throat tightens all at once at the sudden, rough voice in his ear. 

" _You are impatient."_

Tim wanted to respond. But he couldn't. His lungs refused to let him borrow enough air to get the words out when he fell short of breath and ended up coughing instead. Slow, stuttering heaves of air at first, turned into frequent hacking and clutching at dead grass in seconds when he, at some point, had turned over onto his stomach, the weight of the hooded figure off of him, leaving him suddenly hallow. 

Even in the dark, Tim can see him standing over him, his figure blurred, but still tangible enough for Tim to reach for. Until he was not. When Tim's desperate hands clawed for purchase on his pant leg, he instead pawed at empty air, like he'd been a mere apparition this entire time. 

Time didn't feel real in that moment, between when he was being touched, caressed, only to find himself alone and coughing his lungs up in the blink of an eye, like the distant, hooded figure disappearing into the trees in his peripheral wasn't real in the first place. 

Too weak to move, Tim lets his eyes fall shut. Lets the evergrowing sense of dread overcome him, to take him apart like it intended to since it first plagued he and Alex's lives. 

Tim was certain that this was the end.

He was waiting for it to end. 

* * *

Tim awakes with a start. He's not in Rosswood anymore. He's left on the side of the road, right where he had first parked when he came across the trail that night.

His camera is gone.

He still has his mask on. 

Tim doesn't take it off. 

He returns to the hotel room later that day, groggy, and remains silent when Jay approaches him, asking him things like _where the hell did you go, what happened, where is your camera?_ but Tim ignores the questions, ignores him. 

He had no answers for Jay, not when he came up empty-handed that night when he decided to venture into the unknown, expecting information, only to receive more questions. More things he had no answers to. 

He didn't know what he expected. He doubted the guise did anything to help him either. If anything, it just made it worse.

Rather than throwing it out, though, Tim keeps the flimsy piece of plastic close to him, tucked away in his suitcase when he and Jay head out for another road trip. 

He doesn't know where they're going, but he doesn't care.

They were always going to be followed regardless. 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated!


End file.
